The range of emotions from being on such a high from running my first marathon combined with the horrific tragedy is all hard to work through and comprehend. How can the excitement of running the Boston Marathon be coupled with such sadness?

A week later, I connected with the people whose phones I used that day. I heard back from all of them—they’re from Virginia, Oregon, and Hawaii. We live so far apart, but we have a link that will remain for a very long time.

The second bomb detonated less than 10 feet away from where I was standing. And it wasn’t so much that I felt my whole life flashing before my eyes, but instead a feeling of finality—that this would be my last thought. Then I opened my eyes; I was still alive, but I was no longer celebrating at Forum. I was in hell.

I hate that so many runners weren’t able to experience the free-wheeling joy of running unabashed down the middle of Boylston Street, fueled by high fives and cheers from thousands of happy people. There’s nothing like it.

The moment I saw on TV what the hell had happened. In that moment, I realized just how grateful I was to be where I was and that there are really great people on this earth, and they just all happened to be at the same place at 2:50 p.m. on Monday, April 13, 2013.

Right after the explosions, someone locked the large glass doors of the Tannery. We took cover in the basement away from the glass walls of the first floor, feeling that there may be more blasts. I can’t say I remember anything about the basement other than the faces of the people who were there.